Pride and Parity
by JessicaJones
Summary: Just because they sort of like each other doesn't mean it's easy. A few vignettes that follow Love and Levirate.
1. Maternal Nature

_This takes place eight months after the end of my fic _Love & Levirate_, in case you are wondering why Anora and Alistair are relatively comfortable together, and also, why Anora is so pregnant._

_Special thanks to Arsinoe and Piceron, whose reviews inspired this story, to Phoe for the word "garderobe," and to Mutive for being such a wonderfully vicious beta reader._

_(This chapter originally posted in the Queen_Anora LJ community for the Heavenly Virtue, Patience)_

* * *

_9:32 Dragon_

-o-

This could only be described as undignified, Anora thought, as she negotiated her swollen body from the garderobe for what must have been the seventeenth time that evening. The books all said that thirty-eight weeks was the expected term, and of course Anora knew the exact moment she had conceived, and it had been well past thirty-eight weeks. She was more than ready to get this baby out of her.

"Any contractions yet?" Alistair asked, as she returned to the bedroom.

Anora glared at him. "Yes, actually, I just gave birth and forgot to mention it." She tossed her dressing gown over a chair. Alistair reached out to steady her as she climbed back into bed, and she rested her hand on his shoulder before moving carefully to her side. "Don't worry, you will know when I'm in labor," she told him, "as I intend to take it out on you when the pain starts."

He reclined beside her and smiled. "That's what I'm here for."

She returned his smile faintly. "Why did I want to be pregnant again?"

"Because of your warm and fuzzy maternal nature?" At this Anora scowled, and Alistair moved his hand to cover hers. "I'm sorry. I know you're very anxious to have this child."

Anora took a deep breath. She had waited seven years for this, for an heir of Theirin blood— of _her_ blood— to secure her position as Queen of Ferelden. She could wait another week. Or two. Anora groaned and tried her best to be patient.

She turned away from him, seeking a comfortable position, and fiddled with the sheets under her fingers. "I feel so hideous and fat and awful."

His hand moved to her waist as he kissed her behind the ear. "You know I think you're beautiful. You're a beautiful, glowing, sexy mother goddess who is carrying my child." He curled up against her back, his hand moving up her side. She rolled over again to face him again, and he shifted back, accommodating her stomach.

He pulled a quick kiss from her lips before leaning over her, and Anora breathed against his neck. She was suddenly overwhelmed by his musky smell, and she felt her stomach turn over.

"Ugh, stop, you smell like you," she groused, pushing him off and covering her mouth with her hand. The nausea passed quickly but her anxiety remained. Anora realized that she was not going to get any sleep, and she rolled over and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up. She remembered something her midwife had told her. "Lydia said walking helps." She stood quickly. "I'm going for a walk."

"Hold on, I'll come with you."

She nodded and pulled her dressing gown back over her shoulders. As they exited the bedroom, she nodded at the guard stationed outside and he fell in behind them. Alistair offered her his arm and she took his hand, her fingers threading between his.

They turned through a doorway and into a courtyard. The brisk night air was refreshing and she took a deep breath. The stone felt cold beneath her feet, even through her slippers, and Anora pulled her husband closer to her.

Alistair squeezed her hand. "Isn't this crazy?" he said, his voice soft. "Pretty soon we're going to have a baby."

"I certainly hope so," she said, running her free hand over her distended belly. "I am very much ready to have my body back."

His pace slowed and he looked at her sideways. "You've never been around babies, have you?" he asked carefully.

"No," she replied, after a moment's consideration. Alistair was watching her curiously and she shook her head. "I don't suppose that I have."

The King tilted his head skyward, his features rimmed by moonlight. "I remember when Connor was a baby," he said. "Maker, but he had the fattest little hands." He fell silent, his thoughts following a memory, before he turned to her again. "They can't even hold their heads up when they're born. This is a brand new person, Anora, and he—"

"—or she," she interjected.

"_Or_ she," he added, "will be completely helpless. We'll need to feed him, and change his diapers, and teach him to read, and write, and how to ride a horse and which fork is for dessert and right from wrong and all sorts of amazing stuff." He sighed wistfully. "He'll a brand new person, and he'll depend on us for everything. For now, and for the rest of his life, really."

Anora looked down at her hand; the baby was kicking her palm, as though it knew that she could feel it. "You know, as sovereigns of a rather large country," she said, "we already have a lot of people who depend on us for everything." She looked back at Alistair. "And of course we don't actually have to do all of that ourselves. We have people who will do all that for us."

"I know we don't have to," he agreed, "but don't you kind of want to?"

Anora had not decided how to respond to this before a shock of liquid gushed down her leg. She looked down at her dress, now uncomfortably damp, and winced.

"Really?" she asked, of no one in particular. "What just happened? This is ridiculous." She huffed and rolled her eyes. "Pregnancy is some sort of cruel joke that the Maker has played on women everywhere."

"I don't think..." Alistair began, and his eyes went wide. After a moment he grinned. "I think your water just broke, Anora."

"I think I would know if my water broke, Alistair," she snapped, picking at the sticky fabric with her fingers. "For one thing, I would probably start to feel... yeeaahh what in Andraste's name is that?" Anora doubled over and clutched her stomach.

"Are you having...?"

"Yes," she gasped. "Go get Lydia, Alistair. Now." Her husband started to leave, leaving the guard shadowing them unsure of who to follow, until she shrieked and grabbed his arm. "No, wait, come back. I can't..." Anora felt the contraction tightening her abdomen, pushing all the air out of her, and she collapsed against him. The books said it was not supposed to start this forcefully, that it was supposed to start gradually. Maybe this _was _gradual, she thought wildly, and she started to imagine it getting a whole lot worse. Anora began to panic.

"Maker's blood," she whimpered. "Alistair... help."

He held tight to her arms and steadied her, finding her eyes and holding them. "Remember to breath," he said gently. He took a long, slow breath, and she struggled to match it. As she exhaled, the contraction faded, and she regained control for a moment. Alistair hooked his arm around her and said, "Let's go find Lydia together, okay?"

-o-

Anora could no longer tell if it was day or night . The hours dragged, punctuated by the ticking clock of contractions, so that time was only _contraction_ and _not contraction_, and then all at once the contractions changed. They changed suddenly and violently, so that they weren't just crushing her, they were _compelling_ her, speaking directly into her gut in an undeniable voice, and what that voice said was _push, _and it said _now_.

"I have to push," she breathed.

Lydia frowned, the thin lines on the sides of her narrow mouth creasing. She disappeared beneath the curve of Anora's stomach, inspecting her. When she reappeared she shook her head. "Not quite yet," she said. "Hold steady for now, your Majesty.

"Hold steady... no, no, Lydia, I can't wait." Anora looked down at the midwife beseechingly, her breathing heavy. "I'm going to push."

"I said _no_." Lydia was a petite woman, but she had a firm voice that was not afraid to give orders to a Queen. She stood up and moved quickly to her side. "I don't want to scare you, your Majesty," she said, "but your body is not ready. If you push now, you will have internal tearing and there could be permanent damage." The midwife patted her arm. "Just be patient. You have to wait a little longer."

"A little longer...!" Anora threw back her head and clenched her fists.

The urge came again, pounding against her pelvis, and Lydia leaned over her. "Try to breathe through it," she said. "A deep breath in, there... hold it... now out." Anora's lip trembled, and Lydia held her fist in her hand. "Sometimes it helps to reach for the Chant," she suggested. "Maker, though the darkness comes upon me—"

"No." Tears stung her eyes and Anora started to shake violently. "I can't... I can't do this."

She felt Alistair's hand on her other side. She looked at him and he pushed the damp hair back from her forehead. "I shall embrace the light," he said quietly. "I shall weather the storm."

Anora closed her eyes. "I shall endure," she said, and tried to breathe.

-o-

"Aaargh, I can push now, right? Please?"

"Yes, your Majesty," Lydia called back, from beneath her. "Push now. Give it all you've got."

Thank _Andraste_. Anora lifted herself up on her arms and bore down. The contraction was horrible and painful and it felt like it had been going on for _years_ but now she could finally_do_ something and that was much better than sitting still. She took a deep breath and pushed as hard as she could.

Alistair sidled over to the midwife and knelt beside her. "Anora, I can see his head! He has hair!"

Anora scowled down at him. "Ugh, stop _looking_ Alistair!"

"Remember, just keep breathing." He returned to her side and demonstrated breathing.

Anora glared at him. "Don't tell me to breathe, Alistair. I know I'm supposed to breathe." She set her mouth in a hard line. "I hate you," she muttered. "I hate you so, so much. Go away." Alistair took a step back and she lowered her head, pushing.

The contraction ended, leaving her body trembling and weak, and Anora settled back against her chair. In a moment it would start again, in a moment it would _never end_, she thought, and she felt the tears coming again, spilling over her cheeks. "I didn't mean that. Alistair, I'm sorry. Don't go." She began to sob uncontrollably. "I didn't mean it."

Alistair came back to her. "I know," he said. "Just... breathe, okay, Anora."

-o-

As suddenly as it began it was over. With a final push and a choking scream, the baby came free, and when the afterbirth came a moment later Anora leaned back and let her breath catch up with her body.

As Lydia took the baby away, Anora's mind came back to her from through the fog. She heard someone tell her it was a boy. Putting her hands to her face, Anora realized she was still crying, and she stopped. She did not feel like crying any more. More than anything, she felt leaden and wasted and wanted to sleep for a week. In the corner, Alistair crouched over the baby as Lydia washed him. Alistair cooed something, and Lydia chuckled.

Anora lifted her head. "I heard that," she said, raising an eyebrow. "I told you, Alistair. We are not naming the baby Duncan, and that's final."

"But—"

"Duncan is a wretched name," she said. Anora rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. "It sounds like spitting." Alistair turned to look at her with large dark eyes, but she shook her head. "Theirins have elegant names like Calenhad, or Brandel, or, well..." She gave him a weak smile, "Alistair."

"But—"

"You know, _I_ want to name him Loghain, but I'm not about to fight for that, now am I?" She sighed heavily and crossed her arms over her chest. "You can't name your first born after someone my father killed. It looks bad." Alistair bit his lip, and she looked away. "Pick something else."

He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "Gareth, then," he said.

Anora looked back at him, surprised. "That was my grandfather's name."

"Gosh, really? I had no idea." Alistair's eyes danced as he smiled. "I do read sometimes, you know, Anora. And neither of us would exist if it weren't for Gareth, so I thought, I don't know, we both owe him a lot. But it sounds kind of weird with 'Theirin.'" He shrugged. "Your call."

Anora's took a deep breath and smiled. "I think it's lovely." She sat up a little and craned her neck. "Now what are you both doing over there, really? I want to see my prince now, please."

Lydia obliged her, lifting the tiny pink form up to her chest and carrying him over to her. She deposited him carefully into Anora's waiting arms. The baby mewled and his eyelids fluttered, and she adjusted his position. He felt warm and new and entirely hers.

"Gareth," she mouthed, trying it on. She decided that it fit.

"Are you sure you're strong enough to hold him?" Alistair asked, half reaching to take the baby back. "I know that labor was really hard..."

"Oh, hush," Anora said. She stroked the baby's head. "It wasn't that bad."

Alistair's mouth fell open, but Lydia touched his hand as she passed him and he shut it. The midwife watched the baby squirm in her arms, his mouth seeking. "He's rooting," she observed, cocking her head to the side. "Shall I fetch the wet nurse now?"

"Wait." Anora had already made a decision not to breastfeed herself— she was the Queen of Ferelden, after all, and not a cow— but as the baby nuzzled against her chest she spontaneously changed her mind. She could not explain why, but she looked up at Lydia and said, "Show me what to do."

The midwife, for her part, did not show surprise. "Hold his neck here," she said, guiding Anora's hands. "Position him as best you can but don't force his head. Point his mouth here and make sure his mouth is fully open before you... no, hold your breast like this." The midwife grasped her with practiced confidence, and after a frustrating moment, the baby's mouth latched over her nipple. Anora felt a tug at her breast and she stopped breathing. Lydia smiled. "There."

Anora looked down at the baby suckling on her chest. She was not just the wife of the King anymore; she was the mother of his heir. She would never again have to fight to keep her throne as she had during the Blight.

Gareth's mouth slipped off her breast and he began to fuss, unable to move himself the few inches back into place. Anora tried to lift his head back into place and failed, feeling clumsy and unprepared. Her fingers were too tired to hold him properly. Lydia nudged Alistair, and he leaned in closer. His hands supported hers and she let him help her.

Finally, the baby latched again, and the Queen exhaled. His eyes opened, revealing dark blue-gray eyes, and Gareth looked up at her once before settling against her chest and closing his eyes again. Anora held him close. Her crown was safe. Her position was secure. But her heart was beating harder than it ever had in her whole life. She swallowed hard and looked at Alistair, her eyes wide.

"I don't have any idea what I'm doing," she admitted.

He met her eyes and smiled. "I guess we'll have to figure it out," he said. He kissed the baby's cheek. "Alright then. New chapter."

-o-


	2. Fish and Bird

_Thanks so much to Mutive, who is the most patient beta reader ever. If evil geniuses could be beatified, she would be a saint._

_Title and fable and inspiration for this chapter come from Tom Waits._

* * *

_9:36 Dragon_

-o-

"Once upon a time there was a bird who fell in love with a fish." Anora put her ear to the door of the nursery, and when she heard only the nursemaid's voice, she quietly pushed it open. "And the little bird flew along after the fish, calling out her love in song. The song was so beautiful that the fish fell hopelessly in love with the bird."

"Mama!" Gareth said, when he saw her enter. He held out his hands from his bed.

Talia turned and noticed the Queen behind her. "Your Majesty!" she said, somewhat startled. "I d-didn't expect... it's very late."

Anora nodded and set down her candle on the nightstand. "I saw the light," she explained, and sat down on the foot of the bed. She offered Talia a smile. "Please, continue your story."

The elven woman nodded as she turned back to the prince, bouncing her mouse brown hair. "Now, a f-fish cannot live in the sky," she said, "and a bird cannot live in the water, as it is not in their nature, and so they could never be together."

Anora watched Talia speak and the elf kept her eyes fixed on the four-year-old. "But on a clear night, when the water is calm enough, then the sea turns into a mirror, and you can see a fish in the sky, and a bird on the waves." Talia placed her hands in her lap and smiled warmly.

Gareth frowned. "Wait," he said. "Is that the end?"

"That's all I know," Talia replied.

"Well, it's not much," the boy complained. "Were they happy?"

Talia looked at the Queen nervously, and Anora shook her head. She took a deep breath and smiled at the prince. "Sometimes," she told him. "Time for bed, your Highness."

Gareth wriggled deeper under the covers. "How come?"

"Because I said so," Anora replied, raising her eyebrows. "Go to sleep."

The Queen stood and picked up her candle. The nursemaid hesitated for a moment before she stood to follow her. Once out of the room she lowered her eyes. "I'm s-sorry, your Majesty."

Anora tilted her head to the side. "You've no need to apologize, Talia."

Talia nodded quickly and looked back up at the Queen. "What I mean is. I t-take it to understand that your Majesty and his Majesty are still not spea—" Anora leveled an icy stare at the elf, and she stammered to a halt. Talia bit her lip and trembled, then began again. "What I m-mean to s-say is, well, if you want to talk to someone, or maybe if you would like me to... well, to speak to him on your behalf, or, um..." Talia met Anora's cold eyes, then immediately looked back to her feet. "Gareth will have questions."

"That will be all, Talia," Anora said, cocking an eyebrow. She waved her hand to dismiss her. "Good night."

The nursemaid dropped a quick curtsy and scurried away. Anora sighed and made her way to her own bedroom. It was a cold night, but Erlina had placed an iron bedwarmer between the sheets for her, and the blankets were comfortably warm. Anora slipped out of her clothes and crawled into bed alone.

-o-

Anora turned over in her bed to look at the window, and watched the sun rise over the skyline. Of course none of it was her fault. What she had done, she had done for the good of crown and country, and if he could not see it that was entirely his problem.

Arl Wulff had become a liability. After the Blight he was addled with grief, and when drunk he would launch into tirades against the King. Reconstruction was taking longer than anyone would have liked, and some of the Banns started to agree with him. That was trouble enough, but when he started hiring mercenaries from the Free Marches it could not stand. Anora very quietly had him removed, with extreme prejudice.

It was better that the King did not know, she had thought. Plausible deniability.

Alistair had not agreed. The assassin was very good, and everyone believed it was an accident, but Anora had forgotten the King had a contact in the high echelons of the Crows. Alistair had been furious when he discovered her deception, more angry than she had ever seen him, and they had hardly spoken since. That was almost two months ago.

When Erlina arrived, Anora was already up, pacing the room beside her bed. She looked up when her handmaid entered and her stomach flipped over. "He's here, isn't he?"

Erlina offered her a plate with buttered bread. "Eamon arrived this morning," she reported. "He is having breakfast with the King as we speak. How do you feel?"

"Much worse this time." Anora covered her mouth with her hand, then grabbed the bread and took a bite. The butter was salted and she chewed slowly until the nausea passed. "Do you know if he... well... have you noticed if..." Erlina waited patiently for her to finish her thought, but Anora waved her hands. "Never mind. Do you have any idea what they are talking about?"

Erlina shook her head, sharing no clues, but Anora had her suspicions. Eamon had tried to remove her before, and this incident with Wulff left her vulnerable. She dressed quickly and hurried to the dining room.

-o-

The door was locked. Anora paced outside the room, listening to the two men talk and eat and _laugh_, before she could not stand it any more; she finally gave up and returned to her study. It was all too much. She could not lose her throne to _this_, not because of Eamon, of all people. Not _now_.

Anora dropped herself down into an armchair and picked up one of her histories. She thumbed through it and tried to relax but found herself reading the same paragraph over and over, unable to move forward.

When the door opened and Gareth entered with his nursemaid in tow, she looked up, surprised. Talia was not in the habit of bringing Gareth by her study, and Anora gave her a curious look.

"He w-wanted to ask you something," Talia explained. She gave Gareth a gentle push and he toddled over to Anora and clung to her knee. She looked down at him expectantly.

"Watcha reading?" he asked.

"_The Travels of a Chantry Scholar,_" Anora said, glancing over the pages to remind herself. "This chapter covers the Chantry's relationship to magic and their use of lyrium over time and this wasn't actually your question was it?"

"No." Gareth eyes were glazing over and she ruffled his blond hair with her fingers. He tugged at her dress with his hands. "Mama where do babies come from?"

"What?" Anora closed the book quickly and looked at Talia. The nursemaid seemed a little panicked, and Anora exhaled. When Fergus Cousland had visited with his new baby, Gareth had been fascinated by her giant head, but still, the timing was suspicious. "That's a very big question for someone so small," she said, watching Talia.

"I tried to ask papa," Gareth said, "but he got all purple and told me to ask you."

Anora's eyes widened slightly. "He did?" That was something of a surprise, and she smiled a little. "Well, that sounds like him." After a moment she reached out and placed and hand on Gareth's shoulder. "So you see. When a man and a woman... hmm. When a man and a woman—"

"Love each other v-very much?" Talia offered.

"If you like." Anora squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "Anyway, when a man and a woman are consenting adults, in the proper circumstances, sometimes they decide that they would like to join together in a mutually beneficial arrangement. And then, after a while, babies happen." She looked down at him. "Do you understand?"

"No...?" Gareth looked up at her, his brow knit in confusion.

"Well, you will when you are older," she said. Anora stood up and touched her finger to his nose. "Don't be in such a hurry."

Perhaps they were done eating now, she thought. She deposited Gareth into Talia's waiting arms. "You should take him to the park," she suggested. "It's a beautiful day and he shouldn't be cooped up in the castle." Talia nodded, and Anora stepped out to find his father.

-o-

She heard Alistair's voice from down the hall, the familiar cadence ringing against the stone walls, and she waited for him to send Eamon away before she turned the corner to follow him. Anora studied him for a moment before she caught his attention. He seemed healthy, she thought, flushed and typically disheveled. The Queen took a deep breath and steeled her nerves.

"Your Majesty," she said, cornering him behind the dining room. He took a step back when he saw her, his body tensing, and before he could say anything she asked, "What did Eamon want?"

Alistair exhaled and waved his hand. "Oh, that," he said, relaxing a little. "He wanted to talk about an annulment."

"An annulment...?" Anora pressed her arms against her sides and pursed her lips. "Alistair, no, no, you can't possibly. There's a child. An annulment is..." She shook her head, so hard this time that her body shook also. "Well, for one thing, it's improper."

"I know, it's ridiculous," he said. "He wants me to put pressure on the Grand Cleric, or something. Maker, I wish I had that kind of power." Alistair laughed, and Anora glared at him. His smile withered immediately. "But of course I told him no," he said quickly. "I mean, obviously. If he wants to leave Isolde, he'll have to divorce her and deal with the consequences."

"Isolde...? Oh. Yes, of course." The Guerrins had been having trouble for years, ever since Connor had gone to the Tower. Anora felt the color rising in her cheeks.

"Did you think I meant...?"

"No, of course not." She looked down at her dress and arranged her skirt with her hands. "Except that, well... yes. Yes, I did. Of course I did. We haven't..." She pushed back a stray hair that she thought she felt. "What are your intentions?"

"Well I'm certainly not going to divorce you." His eyes drifted down to her stomach. "Not in your condition." Anora covered herself reflexively with her hands, and Alistair watched her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Talia told me," he explained. "She's very..." He made a fidgety motion with his hands, indicating exactly what Talia was, and Anora let out a short laugh. He smiled faintly. "No, I won't put you aside. That wouldn't be _right_."

Anora noted the stress on the word, and she watched him walk to a window and rest his elbows on the sill. "What you did." Alistair looked out, avoiding her eyes. "You went behind my back and killed a good man, in my name, without even..." He pushed himself away from the window and shoved his hands into his pockets, his posture closing. "Is this what ruling a country is? I knew there was a reason I didn't want to do this."

The Queen huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Wulff was beyond reason," she said. "If I hadn't acted, there could have been a coup, or even war. More people would have died. If you think otherwise you're being naive." Alistair looked at her sadly and she averted her eyes.

"Well then," he said, after a while. "What now?"

Anora shook her head. "I won't apologize."

Alistair sighed. "And I can't forgive you."

Maker cursed morning sickness, Anora thought, as she felt a twist in her gut. She leaned back against the wall. Alistair was watching her, his eyes lingering near her center. Anora lowered her head.

"This was inevitable, I think," she said. Anora gestured vaguely. He nodded, then, and she added, "For what it's worth, I wish it wasn't."

Alistair considered this for a long time, silently mulling. He was so far away, she thought. She watched him pull a long breath through his teeth and close his eyes. After a while he opened them.

"Gallagher didn't have any heirs... left," he said. The sound of his voice startled her; there was a catch in it. He swallowed hard. "West Hills will be needing an Arl."

Anora inclined her head and regarded him. He looked back at her blankly, and she cleared her throat. "I would suggest Bann Alfstanna or Bann Ceorlic," she said. "It is a difficult territory but they are both strong leaders."

The King hooded his eyes. "I was thinking of Alfie," he said. "She's earned it."

"She has." Anora noticed his hand move in his pocket. He was turning over his worry token, she thought. "Although you will have to replace her in Waking Sea," she said. "Alfstanna never married. She has no children."

He looked up at the ceiling, chewing his lip. "Ser Horace?" he said tentatively. She nodded once in approval and he exhaled.

Alistair pulled his hand from his pocket, his stance opening, and held out his hand to her. Anora moved towards him. She fell against his chest as if compelled and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She breathed against his shirt.

"It will probably happen again," she told him.

"Almost certainly," he agreed, and smoothed her hair with his hand.

-o-


	3. A Will of Her Own

_Thanks always to Mutive, my charming and angelic beta reader._

* * *

_9:51 Dragon_

-o-

Anora watched nervously as Prince Tristan led her daughter around the gilded ballroom in a complicated foxtrot. The handsome Orlesian moved with light and practiced steps; he was an excellent dancer, of course, but Nyatenari struggled to match him. She was beautiful in every way, with sun-blond curls and a generous smile, but she was lanky like her father, and just as clumsy as he had been at that age. Anora thought she saw the Prince sigh, and her lips thinned.

"Is this really necessary?" Alistair asked, again. He stood beside her, his hands clasped tightly over his waist, and when his daughter stumbled his breath caught in his throat. "I mean, an arranged marriage? They're just so..."

"Are you sure you want to finish that thought, dear?" Anora said, eyeing him. Alistair fell silent and she looked back at her daughter. "I don't see any other alternative, Alistair. Our relations with Orlais are strained to the breaking point. It was difficult enough to set up this engagement party." She watched the couple dance with practiced detachment. "It's a cold and simple fact," she said. "If we want to avoid war, we have to give them something."

"Mmm. Could we consider a fruit basket?" He unknotted his hands and cracked his knuckles, a nervous tick he'd developed over the years. "You know I never wanted this for her," he said. "She's just a girl."

Anora looked at Alistair and heard an unexpected echo of her father. _Daughters never grow up. They remain six years old with pig tails and skinned knees forever. _Anora shook her head. "She's fifteen and a Princess," she returned, "and we should have done this ages ago." Anora looked back at her daughter wearily. "Before she developed such a strong will of her own."

The song ended mercifully and Nyatenari pulled away from the Prince, crossing her arms under her breasts. Alistair took that opportunity to move out onto the dance floor, taking his daughter's hand and stealing her back from the Orlesian. Anora watched them carefully, trying to assess her daughter's capricious mood; she was concentrating so intently that she did not notice the other woman who took up his place beside her.

"It has been too long, your Majesty," said Celene. Anora turned sharply, facing her. Celene's accent was almost perfect; Anora had always suspected she retained her Orlesian musicality only for effect. Her auburn hair must have gone to gray by now, Anora thought, but the coloring was still quite convincing. Orlesians always made the best fakes.

Anora grinned through her teeth, and the Empress smiled back. "You know that you are always welcome here in Val Royeaux," Celene continued. "Doubly so now that you will soon be family."

"Thank you kindly, your Majesty." Anora's voice rose a little on the honorific. "Although there are still a few years to wait before my daughter comes of age. They are only engaged, for now."

Celene nodded and turned her attention to the dance floor. King Alistair spun Nyatenari into a simple waltz, and the two women followed him with their eyes. "We are pleased to finally meet the Warden King," Celene said absently. "After all this time we were beginning to think you were keeping him prisoner." Alistair dipped the Princess backwards, his smile beaming, and Celene's brow quirked. "He is quite handsome."

"As his brother was, Celene." The Empress turned to the Fereldan Queen and her eyes narrowed slightly. Anora pursed her lips. "I am sure you understand a King has other obligations. We meant no disrespect, your Majesty."

"Of that I have no doubt." The dance changed again and Celene gave a regal curtsy. "By your leave, your Majesty," she said, and with that she swept out across the floor, intercepting Alistair before the next song began. The dancers changed hands. With a gracious smile Celene accepted the King's hand and they moved together into a quickstep, while Tristan returned to the Princess' side and tried to coax her into following him again.

It was not going well. Even from this distance Anora could see that her daughter was agitated, pulling her hands free to fuss with her hair, wriggling her hips under his hands, breaking the rhythm as she tried to pull away. Anora wondered if it was time to join them— she should have invited Tristan's father to dance, it would have brought her closer to the action— but she didn't know if there was anything she could do to stem disaster, at this point. She bit her lip and the line of her back tensed.

Disaster struck hard. Anora did not see what Tristan did, but she saw Nyatenari raise her hand without warning and slap him across the face. Time stood still. In the startled silence the princess spat out a stream of colorful swears, mostly Antivan, and then she stormed unceremoniously out of the room.

Anora stopped breathing. When her daughter disappeared she left a vacuum in her wake, and all eyes were suddenly on her. Anora looked at Alistair and noticed he had his hands full with the Empress, who was gesturing wildly, making a great show of indignation. Anora lowered her head and hurried after her daughter, feeling the eyes of all the foreign nobles on her back as she slipped out.

-o-

"But I don't _want_ to get married!" Princess Nyatenari threw herself down on the chaise in the sitting room and crossed her arms under her breasts. "I don't want to live in Orlais and I don't want to be a princess!"

"Oh, stop," Anora said, rolling her eyes. "You are a princess and nothing can change that."

She turned from her mother. "I can and I _will_," she declared. "I'm going to run away and join the Grey Wardens."

"What?" Anora had no idea how her daughter came up with these things; her brother was never so willful. The Queen huffed. "Don't be ridiculous," she said. "When they call it an order of second sons, they mean the second sons of Banns and Arls, not the spare heir of the King of Ferelden."

"Pfft." Nyatenari spun back around, throwing her wild blond hair across her shoulders. "You can't stop me," she whined. "They have the rite of conscription and even the Queen isn't allowed to interfere. I looked it up."

Anora stared at the demon that sprang from her loins and reminded herself to breath. Her daughter stared back at her, her mouth set in a hard line. She could not have turned out less like the doe-eyed, soft spoken Hero from whom she took her full name.

"Tenny," Anora said carefully. Her daughter did not answer, only stared back at her unblinkingly, and Anora frowned. "You don't really want to be a Grey Warden, do you? You know how the Taint plagues your father."

At this Nyatenari lowered her eyes a fraction. "Whatever," she said, and she shook her head. "I still don't want to go to Orlais. I want to stay in Ferelden and marry Bevin."

"Bevin _Guerrin_?" Anora inhaled slowly. This was the first she'd heard of it, but Anora did not want to give her daughter the satisfaction of seeing her gasp.

"Yes," Nyatenari said. "We're in _love_."

Anora regarded her coolly. "You don't even know what that means," she said. Anora considered Teagan's youngest son. Bevin was of an age, and very charming, like his father; it was certainly possible that her daughter was infatuated. Anora rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers. "Please tell me you haven't been intimate with him."

"If that's what you want, mother," Nyatenari said, smiling slightly, "then I won't tell you."

"Tenny!" Anora took a step forward and reached out as if to grab her, or possibly strangle her, and Tenny rose to meet her. She threw out her chin in challenge. Anora stared at her daughter and gave thanks, once again, that it was Gareth who would inherit the country. She forced her hands to her sides.

"Tenny," she said again. "Is there some problem with the Prince? Did he say something to you? Or do something...?"

"No." Nyatenari stared back at her sullenly. "I've just never met him before. I can't believe you want me to... argh! Mother! You're so cruel to me!"

"Not _everything _is about _you_, Tenny." Anora pressed the heels of her hands into her cheeks and drew a deep breath. "Do you honestly think I am doing this to torture you? I take no pleasure in sending my only daughter a hundred miles away, to _Orlais_, of all places." Anora looked up and closed her eyes. "Maker, if my father knew where I was sending his granddaughter he would roll over in his grave."

"Then please don't _do_ this," Nyatenari moaned, and with that she burst into tears.

Anora stared at her, completely at a loss. The tactics Loghain had used with her would never work with Tenny. The girl sobbed uncontrollably and Anora sat down next to her and patted her on the arm, unsure of what else to do.

When after an awkward eternity the door opened and Alistair entered, Anora breathed a sigh of relief. Her husband hovered in the doorway, watching them both, his expression melancholy and distant. After a moment he looked at Anora.

"Can I have a moment with my daughter?" he said.

"Please," Anora replied, sitting back.

Alistair's brow lifted. "I mean alone," he said, and he gestured to the door.

Anora stared at him crossly, but she did not have any better ideas, so she threw up her hands and left him to it.

-o-

"'Tis hardly a surprise that your daughter made such a fuss." Anora heard a half-familiar voice behind her and she turned to see a woman with raven hair and sharp features. It took her a moment to place her; she was the witch who had accused her of treachery at Eamon's estate. Anora masked her surprise at seeing her in Celene's court.

"She clearly takes after her father." Morrigan crossed her arms and regarded Anora curiously. "It does surprise me that you let her get away with such nonsense."

Anora sighed. She remembered the day that Nyatenari was born; she had been so happy to have a daughter. She wondered how they had grown so completely apart. "She isn't mine to control," she said. Anora glanced at Morrigan. "Do you have children?"

Morrigan's eyes darkened, and Anora followed her gaze to see Alistair entering the ballroom again, holding his daughter by the hand. "No, in fact I do not," Morrigan said, and when Anora looked back she was gone.

Anora frowned and turned back at her daughter. She noticed first that Nyatenari was not crying. She walked a little shakily but she held her head with confidence and her eyes were bright. When Alistair accompanied her to her fiancé, the Princess gave a weak but genuine smile, and Anora's heart lurched. Tristan listened politely to whatever Alistair was telling him, and then he held out his hand to her daughter. Another dance started and the Prince led her away.

Alistair returned to her side wordlessly, and Anora cleared her throat. "Is she...?"

"She's fine." Alistair grimaced, crossing his arms across his chest, and his face closed. "She'll go along with everything, as planned."

Anora searched his eyes, and while he did not seem angry, he did not seem exactly happy, either. "Well, I'm glad that's settled," she said, and Alistair nodded, turning away from her.

The dance was a waltz, again, a simple step that she could master, and Nyatenari seemed comfortable again. She really was just a girl, Anora reminded herself, and she was glad there were still a few years before she came of age. There was still so much she had to teach her. Anora swallowed the lump in her throat.

"I ran away myself, once," she said, almost to herself.

Beside her, Alistair heard her voice and turned to her, watching her curiously. Anora let out a wistful sigh. "The night before I was supposed to marry Cailan," she explained. "I ran away to join the Chantry. I was going to become a Sister, I suppose."

"What, really?" Alistair gaped at her incredulously. "I didn't know you were religious."

"Oh, I'm not, really." Anora opened her hands and looked at her palms, remembering the ink that stained them as she learned the Chant by heart. "It was just the only place I could think where my father couldn't reach me. They wouldn't dare steal me from the Revered Mother, I thought, not if she accepted me into her cloister. Not even for the King."

Alistair cocked his head to the side. "So what happened?"

"Oh. Well, my father caught me in the market district, before I'd even arrived. I hadn't counted on how crafty he was." Anora laughed softly to herself, remembering him. "He told me he wasn't going to drag me to the altar kicking and screaming, that he didn't believe in that sort of thing... but he also told me that it was my duty to marry Cailan, and then he gave me the _longest_ lecture on duty and Ferelden and family and I..." Anora dropped her hands. "Well, he made a lot of sense, actually, so I suppose I just followed him back. And now here we are."

Alistair didn't seem to know how to respond. "I'm sorry," he said.

Anora shook her head. "There's really no need," she said, with a quick wave of her hand. "I did grow into it, you know. I quickly discovered that I was very good at being Queen, and that I enjoyed it." She looked down, finding his hand and taking it in hers, and smiled faintly at him. "And it does have it's benefits."

Alistair smiled, his cheeks coloring pleasantly, and she turned back to the dance floor and looked for her daughter. Nyatenari seemed genuinely happy, for the moment. Tristan told her something, soft in her ear, and her daughter smiled radiantly. That smile had always been her most beautiful gift, and Anora felt a knot growing in the pit of her stomach. She nodded at the couple. "What did you tell her?"

Alistair shifted, the movement stretching the fabric of his shirt across the muscles of his back. "I told her that if she did this, I would be very proud of her," he said. "That she could save thousands of lives, and that she would be the quiet hero of two great nations." Alistair squeezed Anora's hand, running his thumb across her knuckles. "I also told her that an arranged marriage doesn't have to be loveless. That you can find love anywhere, with anyone, if you commit to look for it."

Anora laughed, her face warming a little. She turned away from him quickly. "You're so _corny_, Alistair," she said.

"Well, she's fifteen, come on... she likes that kind of thing." The King smiled, twirling his free hand. "After that we discussed the relative merits of Prince Tristan," he said. "We both agreed that he was very polite, and graceful, and I am told that he is an excellent flautist." His eyes followed his daughter and Tristan as they moved across the dance floor. "He's also very handsome, and well built, and he has the most _beautiful_ head of hair."

Anora cocked an eyebrow. "Tenny may never fall in love with him," she said, "but I'm starting to think that you have."

Alistair chuckled. "Yeah. Sorry." He looked back at her, grinning broadly. "Are you jealous?"

Anora shook her head. "Never," she lied, and Alistair pretended to believe her. She stepped out on the floor and asked him to dance.

-o-


	4. Stages

_I wrote this before the characters for DA2 were announced, in case that isn't obvious._

_Thanks forever to Mutive for the betas, and to everyone for reading._

* * *

_9:59 Dragon_

-o-

The old mage looked young for his age, she mused, and smelled strongly of sulphur and formaldehyde. Anora felt sick to her stomach. He was an offense against the Maker, but she was not one to be put off by any sense of moral outrage, not at a time like this. It was only the smell that upset her.

"Have you considered my request?" she asked evenly.

"I have," he replied, tugging on the sleeve of his robe. "You offered too much coin to ignore. Unfortunately, what you ask is impossible."

"I don't see how it's impossible," she said, her eyes narrowing. "You've been a Warden for more than thirty years, I should think." She sat forward in her chair. "Are you playing games, Avernus?"

"Not at all," he protested, blanching. Anora realized that she was looming, and she forced herself to sit back, arranging her hands in her lap. Avernus shook his head. "It would be different if you let me work with him openly, but there is simply no way to treat him without his noticing." He looked at her curiously. "You do not think he would consent to meet with me?"

"With you? A blood mage?" Anora rolled her eyes. "You've obviously never met the man."

Avernus nodded, and an unpleasant silence spread out between them. "How long does he have?" he asked eventually.

Anora looked down at her hands in her lap. The skin was lined with age, and as she clenched them, the creases deepened. "A few months," she said, her voice tightening. "Perhaps days."

"My sympathies, then, your Majesty." His wizened face twisted into a gruesome expression, possibly disgust. "The Calling is a difficult thing for a lover to witness. Wardens are always so vital when young, but at the end—"

Anora stood quickly. "I didn't ask for your sympathies," she snapped. "I asked for your help, and you've refused me." She felt something hot pushing at the corners of her eyes, and she pressed her fingers to her temples. "I think you should leave, and quickly, before I alert the Grand Cleric to your presence here."

The old mage quavered and fled before she could make good on her threat. She would find a way, Anora thought, as she pulled up her hood to hide her face. There was a still a little time.

-o-

Alistair cried in his sleep, and it was his crying that woke her. Anora lay beside him helplessly, watching him thrash in the throes of his Calling. His unseen enemy chose a different attack with each nightmare. That night it seemed to be stabbing him to death with small knives, and he sobbed in protracted torment, tossing and turning. Anora wanted to wake him but she knew from past experience that it would not help.

When the nightmare reached it's inevitable conclusion he bolted awake, as he had every night for months. Alistair lay there stunned for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, before he noticed her watching him. He rolled over to his side to look at her, blinking curiously.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked.

"Not long," she lied. She touched his cheek. "You were dreaming."

"Oh? Was I?" He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. The sun was just coming up, and in the pale morning light she parsed the details of his face. His skin was marked by unkind years. At this stage of their lives, between the strain of office and the needling poison in his blood, he no longer looked younger than her.

"Do you remember what about?" she asked, knowing that he would not tell her.

"Mmm. Not exactly, but I think it involved two sea nymphs, a tropical island, and some coconuts." He rolled over and buried his face in her hair, nuzzling against her neck. His hands roamed over her hips and pulled her closer.

"I gather the nymphs tried to seduce you?" she said, shifting under him.

"Ah, sadly, no," he said, with a sigh. "But one of the coconuts did. It was very awkward." He lifted himself up on his arms, holding himself just above her face. "I had to tell her I was married."

Anora could feel his breath and his skin and the weight of his body against her legs. If he was tired from lack of sleep, it didn't show. His eyes locked on hers, dancing with thinly veiled desire. She inclined her head.

"Make love to me," she said. He smiled and obliged her.

-o-

It was her second meeting with a mage in as many days, but Anders did not stink of death; he smelled like sunshine and cats and fresh picked elfroot. She had met him once many years ago at some drab Warden function, and he was easily her favorite mage in all the kingdom. She would have liked for him to be the one to help her.

Anora found him in the Warden compound, wandering the perimeter. "To what do I owe this great pleasure, my lady?" he asked, as he coyly kissed her hand.

She smiled faintly. "I need your genius once again, Anders," she said. "I need you to heal the King."

Anders frowned. "Is his Majesty ill?"

"You know very well what I mean," she said. "He is not ill, he is a Grey Warden, and it's killing him." She crossed her arms under her breasts, holding herself tightly. "I need you to fix him."

Anders mouth opened, and then closed again, at a loss for words. "Ah. Well. That." The mage winced. "It can't be done, your Majesty."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I know that's what they say, but it's a fool who believes everything he hears." She lifted her chin in challenge. "You are the best healer in all of Ferelden, Anders. Have you tried?"

Anders snorted. "Yes, actually. Of course I have. I've a vested interest in the matter too, remember." He tapped the amulet at his neck, beneath his robes. "You flatter me, but it's beyond the reach of spirit magic. I wish that it weren't, believe me."

She watched him kneel on the ground, leaving a bowl of food for some feral kitten that had caught his attention. Anders had helped to heal her daughter once, one cold morning when she had been fevered and it seemed that she might die; he had already seen her weakness. Anora allowed her voice to falter.

"Very well," she said, and her hands went limp as she let go of hope. "Tell me what I can expect."

Anders stood up and smoothed his long robes. "Are you sure you want to know? It's not pretty." Anora nodded. "Well, the first stage is the nightmares. As I'm sure you've already noticed." She nodded again. "Then come the lesions. Have those appeared yet?"

"No." Although Anora had made a point not to look.

"They start as small bumps, like an allergic rash," he explained. He watched her and she did not flinch, so he continued. "Then you'll see larger ones, dark scaly patches near major blood vessels. And then the next stage is madness. And then death." His face pinched and he turned away. "Mostly we leave before all that, though."

"To the Deep Roads." Anders nodded, and she closed her eyes, holding back panic. After a moment she turned and walked away.

-o-

Anora sat behind her desk and watched as Gareth entered her study. At twenty-six the Prince had grown into a Theirin, tall and regal, although his shining hair and slender build favored Maric more than his father. His eyes were dark and knowing, though, and she thought they came from her side. He sat down opposite her and waited for her to speak.

"I suspect you know why I've called you here." Anora drummed her fingers against the arm of her chair, finding a familiar rhythm.

"Father." Anora didn't answer, and Gareth returned her solemn gaze. "I thought it would be soon. I've spoken with Elaine, and we're prepared for the transition."

Anora clasped her hands together in her lap. "We should talk about a ceremony for his departure."

Gareth sat back, resting against the back of his chair. After a moment he shook his head. "You know he doesn't want fanfare," he said. "I know it's... well, I expect I know what you'll say, but do you think we could just... let him go?"

Anora regarded him wearily. "I can't do that," she said. "It's not in my nature."

Gareth shrugged. "Even so," he said. "I think it's traditional for a Warden to leave without remark, and it would make it easier. For him."

Anora looked down, her eyes falling on the assorted papers before her, plans and schemes for his sending, and she released a defeated breath. "Well, I suppose," she allowed, and she shook her head quickly. "But we should arrange an honor guard to accompany him, at least. I think—"

"He doesn't need protection, mother." Gareth stood up, and he pulled his chair around the desk to be closer to her. He sat very still and watched her. "Not this time. I think that sort of defeats the purpose."

"Oh. Of course." She gathered her papers and stowed them in her desk. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." She blinked, and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers, pulling away moisture. "Have you called for your sister? I think she would like to return to Ferelden, before he leaves."

"Tenny already said goodbye at Satinalia." He smiled gently and reached out to take her hand. "We've known this was coming our whole lives, mother. You needn't worry about us."

Anora lifted a brow. "You are taking it rather well," she observed. There was a sharp edge to her voice.

Gareth pulled away. "I suppose I am," he said. "I've been afraid of this moment for so long that think I've already mourned him. Now I'm just grateful for the time we've been given." Gareth paused, and then asked, "How is he dealing with it?"

"I am sure I have no idea." Her hands closed into fists and she trembled. "For all I know he's ecstatic. He finally gets to die fighting his demons, like Duncan, and Nya, and everyone else." She looked at her son and her voice shook with unexpected anger. "It might be his fondest dream come true."

His dark eyes softened. "You can't possibly believe that."

Anora turned away. "No." She crossed her arms across her chest and took a deep breath. "I am sure that he is terrified and there is nothing I can do."

-o-

"So I heard a new joke in the market yesterday." Alistair reclined on their bed in his nightclothes, his head resting on crossed arms as he watched her undress. "Okay. So one day there's this horrible accident and you, and I, and Empress Celene all die. It's quite tragic."

Anora pulled her nightgown down over her head and then crawled under the blankets with him. "This is already hilarious, Alistair."

"Just wait." She pushed her body into the crook of his shoulder, and Alistair folded his arm around her. "Celene wakes up in the Fade, in a small white room filled with smoke. Very spooky. The door opens, and this really awful monster walks in. I mean it's covered in spikes, and scales, and it has fangs and it drools something fierce." He turned his hand into a claw and growled. Anora laughed, and he grinned. "So she's horrified. And then she hears the Maker's voice, and the Maker says, 'Celene, you have sinned. Your punishment is to spend eternity trapped in a room with this creature.'"

"Well, that seems appropriate." Anora closed her eyes and settled against him.

Alistair idly stroked her hair. "So then I wake up in a white room," he said, "and the door opens, and you enter." His hand caught in a tangle, and she stirred beside him as he paused to free himself. "And I say, 'Hi, Anora,' and you say, 'Hi, Alistair.' And I think, oh, I guess I wasn't such a bad person in life after all. I mean, at least not as bad as Celene, poor old bat."

Anora frowned, opening one eye. "I think I know where this is going..."

"No, no, listen." Anora sighed, and she draped her arm over his waist. He covered it with his hand. "Then the Maker says 'Anora, you have sinned.'" He lowered his head, so his voice hummed against her ear. "'Your punishment is to spend eternity trapped in a room with this creature.'"

Anora didn't respond, and Alistair squeezed her shoulder. "You get it? Because the monster... but it's not... anyway."

Anora shivered suddenly, and she sat up to look at him. Alistair gave her a sweet smile, but when she didn't return it the expression it faded. Her stomach knotted. Without speaking she picked up his hand and pushed back his sleeve, turning it over to look at his wrist. She noted the growing lesion there, rough and blackened, like a overcooked meat. She looked up at his face.

"When are you going?" she asked.

Alistair pulled back his hand and didn't quite meet her eyes. "I don't know." He drew the blankets closer around himself. "Soon, I guess."

"Are you sure?" Anora rested her hand on his chest. "You don't _have_ to go."

Alistair hunched his shoulders. "I do, actually," he said. "I should have gone weeks ago. I just didn't..."

His voice trailed off, and Anora lowered her chin to her chest. She drew a long breath and held it, keeping it to the point of pain before she released it, letting it rattle out of her, taking her grief with it. She looked up at him.

"I love you," she said finally.

Alistair's breath caught in his throat, and he stared back at her. "I love you too," he said, after a while. He brushed his knuckle against her cheek.

Anora nodded. She curled up beside him in silence. His breathing slowed and then he drifted off, but Anora kept herself awake, holding him close for the last time. He was a peaceful for the moment. After a little while she shut her eyes and surrendered to sleep, and in the morning he was gone.

-o-


End file.
